


Tell Me Another Faerietale Ending

by misura



Category: Blade (Movie Series)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Missing Scene, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You don't remember me," Drake said. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Jog my memory," Hannibal invited. He was counting on a punch to the stomach, really. Bitch slap, maybe.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Another Faerietale Ending

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siluria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siluria/gifts).



> prompt: _Drake/Hannibal, reunion_

Some days, Hannibal King reflected, wouldn't go right if you pointed the baddest, evilest motherfucker you knew at them and told him to have a ball.

Not, for the record, that he thought Blade would know the meaning of the word 'fun', or that he'd let himself be pointed at _anything_ , but it was a nice idea. A nice metaphor, to hang on to for a few moments in between Danica's tedious visits.

Where, fine, for tedious, read: fucking scary, because Hannibal recognized a crazy psycho bitch after spending five years as her sucktoy, all right? He could have handled Jarko - even with the fucking vampire pomerian. Asher - no sweat, just another cold vampire bastard with dick envy. Danica was something else, though.

Of course, Blade was something else, too. _He_ wouldn't have gotten himself stuck in this situation. Would've probably be playing soccer with her head right about now - leaving aside the fact that, yeah, turned to ash, most likely. And Blade probably didn't know how to play soccer, anyway.

Hannibal wasn't going to deny he'd been entertaining some revenge fantasies here and there, but as long as Danica died, he knew he'd be happy. Extra happy. Happier than he'd have been anyway, for being free of her, and being human, and -

\- and it might be worthwhile to pay enough attention to his environment to notice when someone was opening the door. Just in case.

"What the fuck you want?"

Shiny idea: maybe Danica'd found something more urgent to do than torture him.

Not so shiny idea: maybe Drake buddy here was just wandering around, looking for a snack. Hannibal wouldn't mind being turned again when the alternative was betraying Abby - well, okay, he'd fucking well mind, but it would be ... all right. More or less. In a totally wrong, 'it makes me puke my guts out just to think about it' kind of way.

Being turned because the Big Bad Vamp was feeling peckish just didn't seem fucking fair.

"You don't remember me?" Drake said. He looked - yeah, Hannibal was going to go with 'annoyed' here.

"Sure do," Hannibal said, because sure he did. "You're that fucking asshole who killed Vance - who, for the record, also a fucking asshole. Then you turned me into some fucking damsel, landed me into a hospital bed, killed a bunch of my friends, kidnapped me and put me here."

"You don't remember me," Drake said. Less annoyed now, more ... anticipation?

"Jog my memory," Hannibal invited. He was counting on a punch to the stomach, really. Bitch slap, maybe.

Instead, what he got felt more like a ... back rub?

Shiny idea: maybe Drake was going to whip and accidentally kill him. Painful, and not quick, but hey. Beggars and choosers, and all that shit.

Not so shiny idea: ... maybe not.

"A mighty warrior, come to do battle with the monster of legend," Drake ... murmured? Oh yeah. Fuck, this was bad. Nice hands, though - big and warm and strong. "All the way from Carthage - "

"Oh, come the fuck on," Hannibal said. Granted, these days, most people went for _Silence of the Lambs_ references, so Drake got kudos for some originality, at least. On the other hand, he'd probably never even _heard_ of _Silence of the Lambs_.

"For three nights and three days, we fought," Drake said, and those hands of his were definitely getting a bit too close to certain sensitive areas there. It still felt nice, though. Hannibal figured being smacked, slapped, kicked and scratched did that to you, eventually: it made everything else feel kind of good, by comparison. "It was glorious. You were ... the greatest fighter I had ever met."

"So, did I beat you?" Hannibal asked. Just playing along with the psycho vampire, honest. And hey, what beaten up guy didn't want to hear about how he was actually some sort of 'mighty warrior'?

"On the morning of the fourth day, you fell and could not rise again," Drake said, and Hannibal thought: _right, three days of non-stop fighting? for fuck's sake'_. "I had the best healers in my service care for you, until you had regained your strength."

"And then we fought some more?"

Good thing, probably, that he'd insisted to keep his pants on. Sommerfeld had insisted there was no need; that he'd got nothing she hadn't seen before (a joke, clearly; he'd laughed).

"And then you snuck into my private chambers," Drake said. Breathed into his ear, nearly. Happy thought: Drake breathing into his ear from behind meant Drake not seeing the slightly strained state of his pants up front.

"To ... kill you while you were sleeping?" Not really a hero kind of thing to do, but probably more practical than the first attempt.

"You gave yourself to me," Drake said. "For three days and three nights - "

 _Spotting a fucking theme here,_ Hannibal thought. _What a pile of crap._

" - you did not leave that room. Nor my bed."

"Cute," Hannibal said. "Really, fucking adorable little love story. The fucking point?"

Drake chuckled, and Hannibal thought _gotcha!_ and felt pleased with himself for nearly half a second. "Your friends won't be coming for you. Mine, aren't."

A bit too elliptic, but Hannibal got it. Danica was in charge here. Drake might be the greatest grand daddy of all vampires, only as long as nobody gave a fuck about that, that didn't actually mean anything.

"You're wrong about the first thing." Blade wouldn't care, sure. Abby would, though. Abby would come.

"Perhaps," Drake said. "But will they be in time? Face it, you're ... fucked." Somehow, he made the word sound dirty. In the 'fuck, let's not get a boner in front of the vampires' kind of way.

Not that it wasn't already a good bit too late for that, but Hannibal was trying hard to think it away. As long as Drake stayed behind him - well, remembering Danica naked had always worked very well.

His instinct for self-preservation at work, no doubt. A good many years too late.

"So? What the fuck is it to you?"

"I like you," Drake said.

"Fuck you," Hannibal said cheerfully, because sure.

"I want you," Drake amended, and either that was a gun in his pocket (did those pants of his even have those?) or he was really very fucking happy to see Hannibal.

"So what the fuck's stopping you?" Danica'd loved how his mouth always seemed to be getting him in trouble, how he couldn't seem to help himself, even when he knew what the consequences might be.

In this particular situation, the possible consequences seemed to be ... not really helping with making the problem with his too tight pants go away.

"I want you to want it," Drake said, not like he was really fucking nice or anything, more like it was a matter of pride. "I want you to beg me for it."

"Fucking date me," Hannibal said. Operating on auto pilot, mostly; he knew there had to be an opportunity here, a way to perhaps save himself all by his fucking lonesome. Show Blade up good.

"Date you?"

 _Fucking cultural clash in progress,_ Hannibal thought. "Work for it. Bring me something nice."

"Something nice?"

Drake's hands were getting really hm friendly. If it was supposed to distract him, it was working pretty well. A physical thing, sure, but that didn't change what it felt like.

"I'll take dead vampires," Hannibal said, hoping his voice sounded even. Calm. Completely not turned on. "I fucking love dead vampires. Best kind."

"You want me to fight your battles for you, King?" Drake's hands stopped moving. Hannibal managed not to squirm, or protest out loud.

 _Fucking code of honor._ "Hey. It's your fucking fault I can't do it myself." He didn't think he could have, anyway. He wasn't Blade.

"I told you I would kill the guards who had allowed you to slip past them," Drake said. "Back then."

 _Back in fucking faerie tale country._ "And I told you you fucking wouldn't."

"No," Drake said, and his hands started moving again. "You understood. I had their heads mounted where you could see them from my balcony. On the evening of the third day."

"And then we lived happily fucking ever after?" Obviously not.

"And then you slipped past my new guards, too. To go back to your city. To tell them the tale of how you had faced the evil Dagon and survived."

"I hate unhappy endings."

"Beg me."

Unfair, really, how a simple back rub could have this sort of effect on him. "Fuck no."

Granted, by this time, it wasn't really so much his back that was getting rubbed. And stroked. And squeezed a little, too fucking gently.

"Say 'please', then."

"Fuck please."

"Almost there," Drake said, doing the breathing in his ear thing again. He had to be real fucking close - close enough for full body contact, if Hannibal would just push back a little and - 

Well, good to find out Drake'd taken the armor off. That might have been fucking uncomfortable.

Potentially humbling to find out a guy who'd been snoozing for a couple of thousand years still seemed to be packing more of a sixpack than he was. Nice, though, right now.

Great body, wicked hands. Big dick, clearly. _A vampire._ Nobody was perfect.

His pants were still on, and getting in the way, really.

Did moaning count as begging? Probably not, given that Drake seemed like a fucking asshole.

"Want." It wasn't 'yes' and it wasn't 'please'. " _Drake_."

Not quite that much of a fucking asshole, after all.


End file.
